The NYC, Coffee, and Me
by tierra diosa
Summary: yay! a chaptered fic! the idea is kind of quirky, but if you liked my stuff before, you should like this one.Present JuuMirai Trunks.
1. the beginning17pov

Hello everyone! Tis a moi again. I realize I've just been spitting out stories left and right (if you've read and noticed…if not, oh well. I shall suffer in silence --;;)

But it's ok! They were ones I had written a while ago, and this one is going to be a working progress. The goal is to put up a chapter at least every two to three weeks or so. Maybe even a month depending on how much time I have to work on it (I usually write during class time since my afternoon is simply too hectic). I have to thank TD for letting me use her account, she's such a friend. If it weren't for her, I'd still be writing A/N's to nobody at the beginning of my stories -

I do not own the characters of DBZ; they are strictly Toriyama-sama's.

Arigato gozaimasu!

**Chapter One: 17's POV**

I'm the kind of person who's always lost in thought. If I say something at all, it's a short, brisk answer, normally nothing more than a few words or a grunt. This isn't always a good thing, as I tend to zone out easily.

Anyway, once during class, the fire alarm went off. Heading out with the rest of the teenaged herd into the cold of autumn, I remember thinking about how not too long ago; I could have been the cause of the alarm.

Ever since 'moving' to the US of A, I must say I've become..._domesticated_. I don't go around killing anymore (except for squirrels—they don't count) and much of my time is spent 'gaining the education of a normal teenager'. Bull. Shit. Not only am I not what most would call 'normal', I've been going to the same grade for the past three years. It's not so much that I couldn't pass; simply that I didn't want to. I was bored and this 'school' was actually entertaining in its own right.

But that fire alarm.

Oh, how I despised it.

The very sound went through me like a knife in my ear. It was high-pitched, loud,and because it came in honks, I couldn't ignore it the way I could a continuous noise.

You see, I can get used to continuous noises. It's annoying at first, but soon it'll just melt into the background and with my thoughts. But short noises that jerk me out of my mind with each new intruding blow; they annoy me.

So here we all were, shivering (except me—I tuned out the weather as well if I saw fit) and standing outside the building that, surprise surprise, was not on fire. This annoys me even more: if the building isn't on fire, and we've already had the drill a million times before, why have them now? We know where all the exits are (we should; it's the seventh week of school) ((stupid year round schedule)) and if the building were actually going up in smoke, I doubt the teachers would care so much about 'staying in a single file line'. We never do anyway; it's always groups of three or so in a circle around the fifth tree from the parking lot.

That's our 'fire drill post'.

The tree itself would have been—erm—_nice_ I suppose, if it weren't for the two pieces of ABC gum on the trunk; the bird shit around the base; a hidden potato chip bag in the branches; and my personal favorite, the tree brace.. The tree is strong and heavy enough to grow on it's own but noooo—we have to give it extra support that will ultimately stunt its growth.

Like coffee……

I think too much. Not good for anyone, but especially me.

Trudging back into the building, I thought I had seen a familiar face. I thought I had—but it turned out to just be some punk messing around with hair dye. Lavender just didn't suit him the way it did—

And as soon as that ugly thought leapt out of its cage in a snarling fury, my brain went kaput. All the memories of those days came flooding back, playing before my eyes like a bad horror film.

Funny thing, film. It's still around, but is totally obsolete. Ugh. How could I use that word? It's an awful label, slapped on just about anything once someone figures out how to 'make it better'. That day after school, I went and bought six tapes. Blank, all of them, but now mine. I felt they needed me and a home where they would be shown proper respect.

After all, now that I've been stripped of my initial purpose, am I not also obsolete?

On my Saturday afternoon walk that week, I came across something very odd; there was a person lying on the sidewalk, clearly unconscious.

So I took him home.

I'm very happy to say that his first notion was not to kill me, but to look at me with a sort of confused, dazed, and otherwise perplexed stare; then came the venom.

"What are you doing here!" his face spoke hatred, his eyes confusion.

I noted that he still spoke in Japanese. For the time being, this meant he was vulnerable to anything I said to him, so long as it was in English.

"Actually," I spoke in my native tongue, "I was going to ask you the same question. It's not everyday I come across an old friend lying o the sidewalk of the NYC."

"I'm not a friend to you, so don't even joke around!" he spat, seeming to be dangerously close to blowing my head off. He looked away, obviously not wanting to keep any form of eye contact with me at the moment. I believe it was then he finally began to notice his surroundings, because this very subtle, almost nostalgic look came across his face. I could see those perfectly blue eyes scanning the room: a small apartment in serious need of cleaning. I think it also sparked the realization that this was 'home' to me, seeing as I lived through that conversation. It was an odd little honor thing I had; never attack a man at his home. maybe it wasn't so much honor as it was that I knew 'home' is one letter away from 'hope' which seems to be the driving force in this child. If that comfort zone were taken away, there would be no fights. Boring. But I digress.

After a moment, he spoke again, very clearly and carefully,

"I crashed. My original plan was to see if…the _help_ worked,"

I noted the 'help' and kept in my mind to puzzle over later.

"But at the last minute, you shot at me. I'm not even sure where the damn thing hit the—machine…"

I cut him off

"I already know about your travels through the time stream. You don't have to be so careful."

He glared at me, probably for knowing what he wanted to hide.

"Continue," I waved him on, relaxing back on the couch. He seemed momentarily thrown off guard by the pleasant tone, but did as he was told.

"The time machine got pretty far, but don't know when I am exactly. The controls went haywire at the last few minutes."

The look of contempt in his still averted eyes was perfect. I found myself wanting more, feeling jealous of my other self for being allowed to see that beautiful hatred and fear as often as he and the child met.

"So you trusted leaving my sister and me back home, did you?" I smirked. The answer I received was—less than expected.

"You're dead. Both of you." And even through his constant scowl, I swear I caught a glint of triumph in those blue pools of emotion. Not wanting to give a way my surprise, I slipped back into my calm expression before he looked back at me.

"I see," was all I could manage to push out of my mouth without sounding astonished or angry.

There was an awkward quiet in which his pride in completing such a task seemed almost tangible in the air. Not one for silences, as they allow me to think too much, I decided to have my turn to throw him off,

"What's your name?"

Direct hit. The look of bewilderment took his whole face this time. My internal smile was aching to surface on my lips. Obviously it hadn't crossed his mind that I never knew his name. He flushed a little and when he did, there was a sudden twinge in my chest. It startled me, but I chose to ignore.

"Why should I tell you? Does it matter?" he tried to still sound confident, but I could hear that he was flustered and embarrassed for confusing what I knew and what the other me had known.

"No it doesn't really, but I'm curious."

He cringed. Had 'I' used that line before? He seemed to take a breath of courage before saying quietly "Trunks."

It was oddly nice watching him sleep. He had such a peaceful air about him. I was beginning to doubt that he was relaxed any other time of the day. It was very tempting to wake him up just to see how angry I could get him. But I didn't. The…joy…of watching this picture of an angel resting overpowered the urge a hundredfold.

I'm not sure why, but for a moment I considered crawling under the covers with him just to see if I could without him noticing. A true fit of insanity if I ever had one. Then came a realization I was entirely not ready for—

He was beautiful.

This person sleeping on my couch, who only a few years ago would have ripped me limb from limb if he could find a way, stuck me as one of the most beautiful creatures on this awful planet.

"Trunks," I tested the name as a whisper. It suited him. Everything about him was just right; just so.

Then, a broad smile slowly reached across my face. I make it a point to keep beautiful things. Who says I can't keep people too?


	2. the next part Tpov

Yaaaaaaay! Chapter two! I should warn you, I intend on having many chapters, so just bear with me.

You know, while writing this chapter, I realized how hard it was for me to write Trunks. Or at least write him and keep him relatively close to character, so if he seems a little OOC, forgive me. I tried.

Ok, I shall stop yakking and give you what you came for: part two!

Arigato gozaimasu!

**Chapter Two: TPOV**

Argh. I hate mornings. I'm really slow when I wake up and it always feels like there's a cubic inch of fuzz on my brain. I'm even more thrown off because I slept on a couch last night. I'm too used to waking up and seeing my ceiling from my bed; not waking up to someone looming over me—

I screamed and jumped away, the blanket splayed across my lap. _He_ didn't even flinch. He sat perfectly calm, as though nothing had happened.

"'bout time you woke up," he spoke to me as though I had been obligated to do something today. I felt myself getting angry.

"Well excuse me for not working on your schedule!"

He seemed as though he were about to say something to me, then stopped. He stood up and wandered off instead. Good riddance! If I never had to see that thing again, it would be too soon.

A few seconds later, I heard something making noise, that only after listening to it for a while, sounded like a radio. I think it was in English. I don't know; I don't even have a clue where I am. He said something about 'NYC' but I didn't get it. Soon, he came back from—wherever he went too—holding two mugs of what looked to be coffee.

"Here. Wake up some, would'ya?"

He shoved one of the mugs into my hands. It was warm. That shouldn't surprise me, but it did. The coffee was black, just the way it had been at home. Of course, we did have sugar and milk, but we tried to use it sparingly. I took a sip, glaring at nothing from the thought.

"thanks." I managed to grunt, though if I had the choice, I wouldn't have.

"You're welcome," he replied…pleasantly? I couldn't tell if he was sincere or just really good at sarcasm (it was probably the second).

A minute or so passed that seemed like hours. Why was he staring? Probably to get me mad. I hate to admit, it was working. I was thinking something along the lines of how unfair it was that I still had to put up with him, when he spoke,

"So what exactly was 'the help'?"

The question made no sense to me. It probably showed on my face, because he continued,

"You said 'I came back to see if 'the help' worked'—what was 'the help'?"

I was the one to stare now. The memory of last night's conversation came back to me. How could he have remembered that when I couldn't? I was the one who said it, after all. Then again, if he was anything like the one from home, he could remember your waist size if he wanted to.

"That's none of your business," I growled, taking another sip.

"If it's already done," the hint of annoyance seemed to be more apparent with each word "then it shouldn't matter, now should it?"

He seemed to carefully pick apart my logic in his mind before leaning back in his chair across from me and saying, "fair enough."

I think I might have stumped him. His ability to find loopholes in everything had either stopped at my statement, or he was really leaving well enough alone.

There was another long silence in which I noticed he changed positions in his seat at least twenty-two times, give or take. As well as being fidgety, he seemed like he was in a kind of daze.

The window was open, even though it was relatively cold out. A waft of smoke, or smog, or both came through. It made me cough, and when I did, he jumped confirming my suspicion of a zone-out. It also made me a little…uneasy. Someone who was usually sadistically calm being that jumpy just didn't settle well. Then again, I rest my case. Not much ever settles well with me.

"Domesticated."

I glanced up upon hearing the word.

"Huh?"

"Domesticated. It's such a cold word for something that's supposedly such a good thing. Don't you think so?"

I couldn't think how to respond other than

"I-I guess…so, yeah."

There was yet another silence, then

"Want to play a game?"

"Huh?"

He looked at me with mild annoyance lacing his tone and eyes.

"Are you deaf or something? I said 'do you want to play a game?' honestly…"

I could feel myself turn red. Its not that I hadn't heard, it had just surprised me.

"Fine," I grumbled, pulling the blanket more closely around my ankles.

"Ok, here's the rules: I say a word, and you say the first thing that comes to mind. Clear?"

"Simple enough," I agreed, although I could shake the feeling I was about to be psycho-analyzed.

"Thimble;" he said flatly.

"mouse." I responded. He seemed to consider my answer for a brief second before moving on.

"Flowers;"

"Funeral."

Again, he paused for just a second.

"Diamond;"

"Rock."

"Mother;"

"Mine."

I could have sworn he smiled at that one.

"Cakes;"

"Cherry."

"Flounder;"

"Fail."

We went on like this for a while, and the whole time, I searched for a pattern. It was only when he reached 'duct tape' after 'maid' that I finally gave into the prospect that they were just random words.

After another twenty minutes of this or so, I was beginning to realize we were having the closest thing to a decent and civil conversation that I had had with either of the two in my whole life. It surprised me that it was even possible. I was even more surprised at how easy it was. I began to smile. Then giggle. Soon, in spite of myself, I was laughing to hard, tears started to come.

"What's so funny?' he asked, sounding a bit hurt. I couldn't stop to answer. I couldn't believe what I was doing. He would never let me live it down if I continued like this. Even as I thought that, a new thought emerged from the back of my mind and slowly took over me: what did it matter? I was happy. For the first time since I was little, I was truly happy.


	3. the part after that 17pov

Yaaaay! Chapter three is now here. (Is pathetically proud of self) I have noticed upon rereading the two chapters posted that there are a few typos. If any are found in further chapters, I apologize sincerely, and hope you let me know so I may fix them.

As for the actual chapter, there is some of what I like to call "repetitive humor." You'll see what I mean. And if you were confused as to how Trunks's time machine was shot down, and yet 17 and 18 are supposedly dead, worry not; that shall be explained in a later chapter.

Enjoy!

**Chapter three: 17's POV**

"Dear English Journal,

I would just like to say you are the worst assignment that ever happened to me. If it weren't for the fact that I can use you to vent, you'd be nothing but smoldering ashes by now. As a matter of fact, you are like a rubber duck to me; a total torture, awful, useless yet strangely amusing. I shall name you Ducky."

I looked at the new page in the notebook for a minute then continued

"In that case, I should start over."

I turned the page, putting the pen to work,

"Dear Ducky,

I would just like to say that you are the worst assignment that ever happened to me…"

My unsuspecting captive snorted. I glanced up. He was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hair clumped together in tapered pieces. He must have just come out of the shower.

"What?" I asked flatly.

"I never would have expected you to be the writing type," he answered, crossing his arms. He looked nice in that sweater (a grey fleece I let him borrow). The fact that he could wear it without absolutely hating it was a testament to how long he had been here. Though I have to say; I'm a little weirded-out by the fact that after he takes the clothes that I let him borrow off, they always end up smelling ever so slightly like him: lilacs and rosemary with a hint of cigarette smoke. The latter, no doubt, came from his mother, or grandparents, or both. I shook myself out of my thoughts to answer him,

"It's a journal for school."

He seemed thrown off. Had a habit of making that surprised face lately. I frowned at that. Was it really necessary to rub it in my face that I was a relatively 'normal' member of society? He never did it on purpose, I know, but his fascination seemed to surface every time I performed an everyday act.

"I had no idea…that explains a lot."

He blushed slightly, and I felt all the more inclined to just drown him. It was a very strange urge, one I like to call the 'so-cute-it-must-die' feeling.

"You mean like how I've been gone for the past few weekdays from 6:30 to 2:45?" I asked like it was painfully obvious.

"W'll, I thought…I dunno…a job or something…" he trailed off, "how do you pay rent?"

"I don't," I said bluntly, closing Ducky, "the day I came in, the landlord panicked and gave me it all free. So I didn't insist; I thought you'd know that I wouldn't."

He looked quizzically at me, determining if my story was veritable.

"Then, how do you eat?"

"I pay only for your food. Up until now, I didn't have any reason to by any. I can eat, but I don't need to."

"Even so, that would still cost—"

I cut him off, swearing under my breath, "I have side jobs OK? Sheesh! What is this, 20Q?"

I stood up, staring him dead in the eyes,

"Honestly, you'd think I needed to explain myself for everything! Of course I'd have some source of money; you think I just pull it out of my ass or something? If it bothers you so much that you don't know where I am 24/7, why don't you just stick a beeper to my forehead? You'd know where I was then, wouldn't you?"

My fists were tightly clenched at my sides now,

"I know this may be a strange concept for you to grasp, but I am trying to move on in my life! I'm not going to keep killing like Gero wanted me to, because I will not be controlled by anyone; especially not a dead guy! I'm not the way I was when you were first here, or like the one from your time-stream! I'M NORMAL!"

I stood there, huffing from my outburst. Trunks stared at me, half in surprise, half in deep concentration. Then, a slow grin spread on his face. He moved from the doorway, saying

"I'm gonna go for a walk. Be back soon,"

He gave me a few short pats on the back, and went out the door, still smiling.

I believe I was just pawned.

For the next two weeks, I was in a sort of mental temper tantrum. I just knew he had wanted to hear me say something like that. I had done so well not to confirm any suspicion that I had become "human" once again; I enjoyed his fear of me too much. And then he trapped me. He asked seemingly innocent questions that he knew would push me to brink of annoyance. He made me admit to something that I had denied for years. And to top it all off, he trusted me.

I shuddered at the thought. Or maybe it was the cold. I did still have that window open. It was almost a week away from Halloween; pumpkins sat on the doorsteps and windowsills of the townhouses across the street. Candy prices were dropping (three bags for the price of one, and you get a cheesy rubber mask when you buy six!) and I was contemplating ways to scare off the little kids that come to my door looking for it.

Every year it's the same: they see me going into my apartment packing a cubic butt-load of candy, and automatically assume it's for them. As if! It's all mine! MINE!

I must have had an odd look, probably half-way between a pout and my 'focus' expression. Whatever it was, trunks noticed with

"What's with the face? You look like a dog just pissed in your breakfast bowl."

"I'm thinking of ways to scare little witched and goblins." I growled. He looked at me as if I had put a pink weasel into a cookie jar. Of course he wouldn't know about Halloween.

I gave a brief explanation, after which he gave a very flat look.

"What?" I asked, annoyed that he should know how to stare me down.

"You bought enough candy to give yourself five mouthfuls of cavities and won't even spare a few pieces on the one holiday you're supposed to give it to the kids?"

"I bought it! If they want candy, they can go to the store and get their own!"

Trunks sighed and shook his head. Why did I feel guilty? I shouldn't feel guilty at all! I'm right. I bought it. Stop making me feel guilty!

The idea must have been stamped on my forehead, because he spoke

"I'm not trying to guilt-trip you. I just think it would be nice if you used one bag for them."

He stood and left for the living room. I weighed my options: protect my rep as a mean little brat and keep all the candy, or give up just one bag to see if I can make trunks smile again.

Keep reputation: lose game.

Humiliate myself: win game.

…I hate being a sucker for his smile.

"Dear ducky,

I would just like to say that Trunks is the worst assignment that ever happened to me…"

I glanced up from the book to see the smile I couldn't stand to lose being displayed for the group of children at the door.

"…have fun, and good night!" he waved them off. I must say, his English was very clear for learning it in such a short amount of time. Of course, he still had trouble distinguishing "R's" from "L's", but that was cute in a way.

That night, I went to bed with only three of my seven bags of candy left. For some reason, however, I wasn't bothered. Trunks was lying on the couch, fast asleep. I had pulled a blanket over his smiling form and marveled at how he didn't flinch in the slightest.

Maybe next year I'll put him in costume.


	4. beginning middle part Tpov

First, I just wanna say…HAPPY FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH EVERYONE!!!!!!!!! X3

Secondly, I want to apologize for such a long wait. I've been very busy for the past few weeks with school work, visiting grandparents/friends in New York (no, not New York City ) and all this other crap. But here it is, just what you've waited very patiently for,

CHAPTER FOUR: TPOV

I have to say, I'm amazed at how tolerant of him I've become. I've even used a few nicknames for him (to all of which he grudgingly responds). This week or two, I'm calling him 'Sev'. I wonder if anyone else he knows calls him this, because he acknowledged it right away; all the other names had to be repeated a few times at least before he listened to it.

It's even stranger getting used to living here. I've been making repairs on the time machine while he's not home, but even that's been less frequently visited. I can't believe how many holidays they have packed together in so few months, either. First, there was Halloween, and then something called "thanksgiving". I remember a few of the Americans back home performing this holiday as best they could with the few supplies they had.

And coming up is a holiday I know: Christmas. It's celebrated somewhat differently here than in Japan, though. Even so, I believe that both ways are just beautiful.

The window was finally shut yesterday, and with perfect timing; a blizzard has covered the ground with a thick, half-car-high blanket of the most stunning snow I have ever seen. Back home, we were lucky to get maybe an inch or two. I figured this was probably from the damaged atmosphere; a downside to releasing so much energy during battle.

Funny thing: I feel a bit detached from what I call home. I guess I've gotten a bit too comfortable here. I've even gotten used to the couch, something I once thought impossible.

The door opened, and in came Sev, hauling a little pine tree through the living room. He grunted as he placed it by the window. Rather, he leaned it against the wall near the window, and left for his room. Moments later, he returned with a bowl that had pegs in its sides, and a large, cardboard box. Lifting the tree again, he pushed the bowl underneath it with his foot and eased the stump between the pegs. He knelt down, and with a squeak at each turn, tightened the pegs around the base.

"You wanna help?" he asked in his usual monotone. I looked at the box inquisitively, then back to him. He nodded. Sighing, I got up from the couch and opened the box. Inside were other boxes, holding about six, round, colorful ornaments per. There was also a box of lights, and a long string of silver tinsel looping around through all the leftover space.

They were all very dusty, and after he put some water in the tree's bowl, placing them on the tree made us both sneeze and cough. We even laughed a little together, resulting in almost losing two ornaments. But through it all, I think the tree turned out wonderfully.

Later that night, I was sitting on my 'bed', my head propped up on the arm of the couch. The lights reflected in the window and shone on the ceiling, dancing and blinking like a dream. It was completely quiet, except for the soft noise of the heating vent blowing air into the room. I liked it; so calm, so warm. It was so peaceful; I didn't even notice Sev come in—

"This you're first time seeing a Christmas tree?"

I jumped and nearly fell off the couch. He stood smirking in the doorway.

"No," I sighed, placing my chin back on its rest, "just my first Christmas I remember being this quiet."

"Is…quiet bad?" he asked, curiosity and concern mixing in his tone.

"No," I said again. I probably sounded as sleepy as I felt, because I heard him chuckle, "what's the matter? Tired?"

"A little…" I admitted, letting out a soft yawn. He came over and sat a few inches behind me. I felt the blanket I had draped around my shoulders slide a little and then stop.

"What are you doing?" I asked after a moment.

"Staying warm. What does it look like?"

"I don't know," I answered playfully, "I can't see you."

"You ass," he growled, I'm sure pouting as he did so. Then, playfulness came to his own voice

"Uh-oh."

"What 'uh-oh'?" I perked up a little.

"'uh-oh, I'm rubbing off on you' uh-oh."

"Joy and rapture." I replied with another sigh. I was trying to ignore what he had just said. It wasn't working very well.

There was quiet, as there usually had been after our little conversations. We both just sat there; I admired the tree, and he stayed curled up and buried under the oversized blanket.

"Trunks?" he murmured after a moment.

"Mm?'

"I have a Christmas present for you, but I'm worried you won't like it."

"What do you mean?"

I heard him shifting his weight behind me, and jumped when I felt his arms, chest, and head resting on my back.

"Promise you won't get mad at me?"

"Depends," I answered cautiously.

The next thing I knew, he had looped his arms around me, flipped me over and…

Kissed me.

No, not just kissed me, but kissed me. It was very rough at first, and I struggled a little out of panic. He held me down as hard as I struggled, and once I figured this out, I resolved that there was nothing to do but relax. Sure enough, as I did, his grip lessened, the kiss becoming more tender. It was the strangest feeling I had ever had. I didn't have time to find anyone 'special' like that back home; it was too dangerous anyway. So, this was my first kiss. With another—boy?

By now, I had completely succumbed to him and thoughts of all sorts were going through my head:

Did I really think of him so normally? Maybe he…liked me. If so, for how long? Where did he learn to kiss like this? I can't breathe. Why me? This isn't right. Who cares?

At that startling last thought, he pulled away, a look of possession and lust in his eyes.

"Watashi-no." he whispered, pulling me into another kiss.

Mine.


	5. halfwayish part 17pov

OMFG…I _was_ going to make you wait for this chapter. I _was_ going to hold it out for as long as I could. I _was_ going to torture and tease, and demand you send me chocolate cupcakes with no frosting as an incentive to update…

But to tell the truth, I couldn't keep my hands off the key board. --;;

Before I start, I would like to give the following warning:

This is a lemon-ISH. It's all the citrus-y goodness you can get with enough left out that it lets your imagination do the rest. See, I was going to write a hard core lemon, but I decided that might be too much for some people to handle. (Besides, I'm paranoid that my dad checks my files, and he wouldn't be too happy with me if he found out how much I knew about screwing ass…)

Enjoy, and remember:

You have been warned. So don't be disappointed if you wanted more and didn't get it.

**CHAPTER 5: 17POV**

If I had known, I'm not sure I would have been so desperately brutal. It was fun, but now I feel guilty. The first time I have _ever_ felt guilty for doing that. I couldn't help myself. He looked so angelic and unsuspecting I _had_ to do it. Something that pure isn't allowed to exist. It makes people like me crazy. I'm glad that it's done and I lived, but _why_?

Why do I feel so guilty? If I had known…if only I had known…

"Watashi-no," I whispered to him. He had this look of fear, realization and…

Anticipation? Most likely for the worst. In the dim light, that wave of possession for this beautiful creature fell heavily over me. I couldn't help it. I kissed him again.

He was a little more willing this time, but still obviously nervous. I wouldn't let him go. He was so warm. Forget fear and anger, this naiveté was positively _brilliant_. I wanted more. I needed it. So I went for it.

He let out a yelp of protest (muffled by the kiss) when I reached for his pants. Before I could actually unbutton the clasp, he pushed me away from his face,

"What are you _doing_?"

"What do you think?" my voice sounded thick with desire, even to my ears.

"Wait! No—stop!"

I wouldn't listen. Once I start something, I always make a point to finish it. Besides, my head was so clouded with lust, there was no turning back. I kissed him forcefully so he couldn't move, and all but tore his pants off. He gave another yelp and attempted to push me off, but I had his arms pinned under my chest. With my right hand, I teased around the elastic of his shorts.

He let out a groan, out of dissent or pleasure I don't know. I hoped it was the latter. He managed to wiggle away from the kiss long enough to huff,

"Why? Why me? Why tonight?"

"Because, I can't wait any longer to claim you." I answered quickly. I shut him up from any further questioning with another kiss stopping momentarily for air. After a few moments, I took his sweater (my sweater) off as well. He gave a small shiver at his complete exposure to the lack of warmth.

Well, _almost_ complete exposure.

Before any protests could be made, I got rid of the shorts.

He looked at me, shaking violently and probably hoping against hope this was all just a bad dream. And I felt a small twinge of pity for him, staring into those childlike blue eyes. So I calmed my self enough to ask

"Afraid?"

He stayed shaking like a leaf, seeming to be choking under the stress.

"I won't stop, I've come too far for that; but I'll go slowly if you want."

He seemed to consider the options for what felt like ages when finally, he answered. He shook his head slowly, swallowed heavily and stammered

"N-no. If—if you're going to do this, just get it over with. I don't care anymore…I'm sick of trying to fight this cause because I'm just not getting anywhere. You win. I give up."

I was shocked to hear such words out of his mouth. This boy's whole being was sustained by a thing called Hope; and now the light of that hope was fading. None-the-less, I took off my own clothes.

"Don't be so tense…you don't want this to hurt, do you? I cooed, running gentle kisses down his neck. He was still trying hard not to relax, lest I do something he wouldn't want. That only made me want more. I guess that's my own little neurosis; fear get's me in a very needy mood. It's like a test: how scared can I get him without going over the edge?

The trembling lessened after the first twenty minutes, each of which I spent teasing him with small kisses, my hands, and my tongue. I wanted to just go ahead and fuck him into the couch, but I'm a patient thing when it comes to mind games. I wanted to push him to wanting _me_. I wanted to make him choke with lust. I wanted him to fuck _me_ into the couch—

But, if wishes were horses, right? After another five minutes, I heard him murmur something. It wasn't much more than a whisper actually, but I had heard. I pretended not to, just to hear him say it again.

"I know—ah!—you heard me!" he grumbled, panting a little.

"Heard what?" I asked innocently, playing with the back of his knee. That rewarded me with another gasp and a moan. I smiled.

"I…said…" he began, but trailed off. I lightly moved my fingers up his thigh. Beautiful. Perfectly flushed, ready; beautifully _ready_.

By now, I believe he was fighting tears. Probably thought he had hurt his pride enough by submitting to me.

"What?" I teased, giving his ear a small lick.

"I…I…" he was shaking again, but this time I sensed no fear. No, this was _just_ what I wanted. He was on the brink. He was getting just as eager as I had been this whole time.

He wanted…

"…more." He whispered. I smiled again, ignoring the request. Instead I drew circles down his torso with my finger.

"More, dammit, more…" he said a little louder. I was getting close…

"I told you to get it over with! Do you enjoy teasing me that much? Stop, or give me MORE!"

"My, aren't you a greedy little boy," I was smiling in the face of death.

"Very well, I'll give you what you want."

Thus, I made sweet, brutal love to my captive. It was purely blissful, lust-driven want on both our parts. I wanted him because he was beautiful and could relate to me in ways no one else could. He wanted me because I wanted him. I savored his sweetness, his taste; every moan, every sigh that escaped his lips. Those sounds made me even hungrier. A few soft sobs came from him here and there, but he never told me to stop.

The next morning, I awoke with a sick realization that I had been too wrapped up in my own game to notice…

…if only I had known he was a virgin. Oh, if only I had known.


	6. getting close to halfway Tpov

* * *

Ok…the last chapter was…yah. Anyways, hope you liked it! (Sorry to those of you who were looking for something a bit juicier…I'm trying to make this readable for most audiences ;;)

And now, the story continues. I have a complaint about the review count…I NEED FEEDBACK PEOPLE!!!! Please? looks pathetic oh well, you can read it and not review. See if I care. I don't. It just means I'll be sad and have no clue how well (badly?) I'm doing. I'm open to flames! I find them amusing! If you don't like the story, tell me!! I'm running out of funny crap to read anyway. Oh well.

Well, enough of my rambling. On to chapter six!

Domo arigato!

p.s. if you are one of the people who have stuck with the story all the way through, THAAAANK YOOOU!!!!!!!!!!!

**Chapter six: TPOV**

I'm not quite sure what I expected. I just knew he was being too nice. Of course he just wanted to get in my pants. And I was gullible enough to let my guard down. Stupid, stupid me.

For the next few weeks after that night, I couldn't get rid of the nagging hope in the back of my mind that it hadn't been the only reason he took me in. I tried instead to keep myself occupied with the time machine.

I remember the last pathetic shot the 'other you' had taken at me. That was something that truly bothered me; I had killed you, sent a ki blast straight through you, and you still left me with a reminder that you always have to come out on top. I hated it. I hated it all so much. He raped me. How dare he play with my head like that? If I wasn't worried about hurting other people, I'd blow him up again! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!

Then why? Why was part of me enjoying his company (a LOT)? I hated that I loved him.

That's all there was to it. I hated that I loved him.

* * *

I spent Saturday staring out the window. The edges of the panes were frosty with intricate little designs. The snow in the streets was now plowed to the sides in a brownish grey slush. Cars were busily honking down said streets again, and I was still angry. 

In an odd sense of the word, I considered 17 as a brother. We had known each other practically my whole life; shared remarkable power; we were fighters.

I hated to admit this so much, but I think it's better off I come to grips with it. And now, I was just so sickened by this bond. I didn't want to have anything to do with him. My mindset had taken two and a half months to trust him, and it took two and a half seconds to shift back to the truth: he only cared about himself. That stupid brat of a monster hadn't changed a bit; no matter how hard I hoped he had. I'm only glad I have to deal with one and not the other…

My train of thought came to a screeching halt. Where was his sister? I hadn't seen, heard, or even thought of her in the whole time I've been here. Now that I had, it felt so odd to know she wasn't there. I still didn't want to talk with _him_ but I had to ask—

"Where's your partner in crime?"

He seemed surprised at my being in front of him and talking again, but shortly slipped back into his usual calm demeanor.

"Elsewhere."

"Where isshe?"

"I told you, she's not here."

"Why?" I felt my temperature going up with my anger as I spoke.

"Because," he said somewhat bitterly, "she's got her own life to deal with back in Japan. Husband and all, you should know the drill."

"And who is the 'lucky' guy?" this had been rude of me, but at the moment, I hadn't cared.

"Oh, you should know him very well."

I was a little worried by his sadistic tone, but decided not to show it. He looked me dead in the eyes and said

"Krillen."

"What??" I staggered. 18. Krillen. Married. Dizzy.

* * *

"Hey!...Hey! Wake up, dumbass!!" 

Someone was shaking me by the shoulder, hard. What happened? I looked up to see 17 frowning over me.

"Jeez, I knew you'd be shocked, but did you have to faint on my floor? You're such a wimp!"

…I did what?

"Get up. We have to pack. Now."

"Huh?'

"Argh, never mind! Just grab a jacket, will you? We have to go, NOW."

With that he ran off into the living room. I was once again come over with worry at his being so jumpy. What could possibly be so urgent? As far as I knew, he didn't care enough for anything to be that urgent. He came back in with a backpack and snapped,

"Well? MOVE!"

Not knowing what else to do, I slipped my jean jacket over the sweater I already wore and followed closely behind. He was all but running up the stairs. Why were we going up? We were on the second floor to the roof. Unless wee were going to fly…

I gulped. What if someone saw? I didn't have much time to think about it, because the minute his feet got through the door, he took off. I had no choice but to follow, according to him; and I didn't even have a clue where we were going. So I tried best I could to keep him in sight.

Only about twenty minutes later did I figure it out as we went over the ocean; we were going to Japan. That could be the only place he would go in this direction.

Sure enough, after about another twenty minutes later, he stopped at a little pink house on an island I remembered with a smile: Kame. Master Roshi's. I noticed with some detest; he didn't even bother to knock. He just burst through the door and ran into a different room form which I could hear a woman cursing quite loudly. Then I heard 17's voice; not loud enough to find words, however.

I stayed in the living room for the day on the couch, watching 17 run in and out of the room. The screams had died down after the first few hours, but started back up after another two. It was about 11:30 when I began to get drowsy. The yelling had stopped completely, then—

I heard a cry.

I blinked. Had I really been so stupid to not figure out what had just been going on until now? All the sick realizations came at me at once. The woman who had been screaming was 18. 17 told me she had been married to Krillen. And now they had a…

Oh god; oh dear Kami above…

Why that? Why did I have to come to be exposed to this?

That night, I believe my brain finally broke.


	7. very near halfway 17pov

Well….that last chapter was a bit of a cliff hanger, wasn't it? But you guys don't mind, do you? Of course you don't. this chapter was written during lunch at school where I am surrounded by my friends, who all think throwing milk cartons against the wall to 'make the funny splat noise' is the most amusing thing put on Earth since the Sibling Battering Ram (for those of you who have siblings and actually tried opening a door this way, you know what I mean).

Needless to say, this chapter may have come out a bit strangely due to over-exposure to crazed freshmen and one senior. If it is, I apologize. If not, ignore the above warning.

On to chapter seven!!!! (Almost to the middle!!!)

**CHAPTER 7: 17POV**

I swear it was a sign. The minute he fainted, the phone rang. No one ever calls me just for kicks, and only a handful even know my number; so I wasn't surprised to pick up and find that it was Cueball. He was stuttering and I could barely understand him. So I yelled at him to get to the point. And he did.

Quite efficiently.

So now we (being Trunks, Cueball, the Perv, and I) were in the living room. 18 had wanted to be left alone with her new baby girl after having slapped the Perv for sneaking in to 'watch the birth' fifteen times.

I don't know how, but I think trunks had forgiven me in the thirteen hours we were here. I guess I didn't really care how or why, so long as he did. When I was sure they were all asleep, I moved trunks a little so his head was resting on my shoulder. I played with his hair absentmindedly, loving how soft it was.

He looked so sweet in his sleep, all the lines of anger and worry gone from his face. He was an angel. And it's supposed to be good luck to kiss an angel…

So I did; softly on the lips with one word following,

"Gomen."

He stirred a little, startling me, but didn't wake. Instead he…

Snuggled. Snuggled into his new source of almost body heat. I couldn't make my own heat without trying, but any that touched me retained well when I wasn't. I noticed a slight smile on his lips. Was he dreaming? I wished I knew and what it was about. I also wished he'd stop looking so cute; it makes me want to fuck him harder each time he does. I couldn't remember ever being this horny before, and here I was barely able to keep my pants on.

I felt the need to drown him again.

"You're warm…"

I let out a quiet yip at the unexpected comment. Trunks rubbed his eyes sleepily. (Ok, never mind drowning; he needs to suffocate, then drown.)

"Is this a bad thing?" I asked flatly.

"No," he moaned, sitting up and stretching. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. According to you, I'm very good at that."

"Well, you are," I replied, slightly annoyed, "it's like you act stupid on purpose or something."

He gave a soft snort, a gentle smile back to his lips. (Strangled, smothered, then drowned.) I noticed he curled back up so his head rested on my shoulder again. I was surprised; how should I act in a situation like this? The only way I knew how, I suppose

"What's the matter? You're being awfully snuggly."

He seemed surprised as well, and looked up at me as though I had just committed some horrible crime.

"But, I thought…I mean…why else would…"

He began to turn pink. I noticed with a small smirk that it started at the bridge of his nose and spread from there across his cheeks. But I was curious to hear the rest of the sentence, so—

""why else would…what?" I asked. He looked confused and somewhat—I'm not sure what this emotion was. No matter how hard I tried to read it, I couldn't figure it out. It was something like pain, and sadness, and…_something_. It began to drive me crazy that I didn't know what it was that clouded his downcast baby blues. It began to drive me crazy, that, because I didn't know this emotion, I couldn't fix it or make it worse. So I couldn't help asking a little pushily,

"What now?"

He stayed quiet for a moment before me straight in the eyes--with a startlingly cold film now over his--and saying

"It's nothing you need to worry about. I was just being stupid, as usual; so I expected something of you that I knew you couldn't figure out. Just…go back to sleep, please."

With that, he rolled over and half heartedly snuggled into the pillow instead of my arm.

I'm not sure why, but the fact that I couldn't so something he expected--needed--of me was gnawing at my insides like some horrid carrion bird.

Gomen nasai, Trunks.

Gomen nasai.


	8. halfway Tpov

AAAAAHCK!!!!! It's been forever since I updated! Sooooo sorry! For those of you who've been waiting for an update, I specifically apologize for my procrastination instincts. In light of these recent (and long) pauses, I have decided to update every week instead of every other week. This way, it won't throw me off which leads to the stupid problem in the first place (it also means you guys get the rest of the story faster! Aren't you happy?). I would also like to request that any and all further comments/questions/errors be sent to This will make my life easier, and I won't have to worry about opening the wrong e-mail on TD's account. It would also be helpful if in the subject line, you specify which chapter you are commenting on, because quite frankly, I can barely remember what I had for lunch, let alone which chapter I put a certain line in. I believe that is all for now.

Thank you sooooo much for reading! (And don't forget to review, dammit! )

**Chapter eight: Tpov**

It's been two weeks since Marron was born. I have to admit, she's absolutely adorable. She looks a lot like her father, but you can definitely tell 18's her mother.

That night on the couch, I must have been stupid from lack of sleep. Or on imaginary drugs. Either way, I don't like to think about how close I had been to saying—to asking…

Now that I think of it, it wouldn't have been such a stupid question; if it had been someone else I was asking. I think the part that bothers me the most is that if I were to ask, that would mean I had to believe it was there. I'd have to admit a hope that didn't work with my brain. That's just too much.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when _he_ came over and plopped down next to me on the couch. He was holding Marron and lightly bouncing her in his arms. I was amazed he even knew what to do with a baby. Form the way he was cradling her so gently, and tapping her mouth affectionately, you'd think he had been a pro baby sitter for years.

I had to ask.

"Have you ever…" I began awkwardly. He glanced over at me for a second, no feeling in his face or eyes.

"Have I ever what?"

I sat there, trying to figure out a way to say this and not make it sound completely dumb.

I couldn't.

"Babysat?"

He sat there a while with the emotional value of a Popsicle stick, but I saw a small smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. He absentmindedly played with Marron's toes before he answered with a question,

"You remember when I said I had side jobs?"

I nodded. He stayed quiet, staring off into space. Marron cooed quietly in his arms.

"So…you did?" I offered, breaking the silence. He gave a strange face and nodded once, but then shook his head. I was confused.

"So you did or you didn't?" I asked a little impatiently.

"Well…in a manner of speaking," he began cautiously. I watched. It was the first time I had seen him so…awkward.

"I used to work…" he trailed off.

"Yes?" I pushed.

"I used to work at…"

"Yes?"

"…a…" he closed his eyes and took a deep shuddered breath,

"…daycare center."

I sat there, stunned. I never thought that he would have the patience for that sort of thing; on top of which, he blushed ever so slightly. Half of me wanted to laugh, half of me was too taken aback to do so. So I just sat and looked surprised for a few minutes. Of course, he had recovered almost instantly, probably mentally licking his wounds in private.

"Would you like to hold her?"

I glanced up, coming out of my daze. He was holding Marron out to my, eyes expectantly staring into mine. I hesitantly held out my own arms, and he gently laid the child in them. She was carefully tucked into a blanket that was soft as down. On her head was a fuzzy yellow hat with triangular ears and whiskers. As I looked down at the wriggling bundle, I couldn't help but smile.

"She's beautiful," I answered absently.

"Just like her mother." He replied quietly, running gentle fingers against the child's cheek. It was in this moment of affection, I began to summon up the courage to ask my question.

"17…I was just curious,"

"Yes?" he replied, tucking in a corner of Marron's blanket.

"Last night…when we were talking? Um, well, I never really got to…ask something."

He gave me an attentive glance, raising an inquisitorial brow. I took a deep breath,

"I jumped to conclusions and said you weren't capable of…well, just because you didn't understand my babbling doesn't mean you…"

"Get on with it already!" he grumbled, looking away. No, he couldn't lose interest now.

"I…" this was it—

"Do you love me?"

He froze, and I couldn't see but I think his eyes widened by a good few centimeters. He was so still, I wasn't even sure that he was breathing. Did he need to? Before my thoughts could go any further, his body relaxed again with a sigh. He stood up and began to walk to the front door. As it opened, a rush of cold air swept over the floor. He didn't look at me, but spoke softly,

"You'd ask such a thing of an emotionless android?"


	9. past halfway 17pov

Well, here it is; Chapter nine. Sorry that it was late, but I haven't been able to get on the damn computer because everyone and their grandmother have been using it when I've had time to type. The holidays are here, and all I listen to on the radio anymore is Wash FM. (I can just picture it…three weeks from now I'll be gluing the station selector to 107.3 and listen to it all day to scrape the Christmas songs from my head XD.)

I'm sorry that the last chapter was kind of short. This one will be too, but what it lacks in length, it will make up for with content.

So happy Chrismakwanzacha to all, and have a safe winter (for those of you in colder areas, beware the yellow snow…)

Chapter nine: 17POV

As I shut the door behind me, I couldn't help but cringe at the crestfallen look on his face. Why should I care? He's pathetic to let his emotions control him like that.

Like the way I did that night…

A cold gust of wind pushed my hair back from my face. I gave a shiver. Was I so wrapped up in this I couldn't even tune the world out? I hated it. That's the only emotion I'm comfortable with; hate. And now that stupid brat has the gall to make me uncomfortable by bringing up _love_? Ooh, it just makes me want to punch him straight into the ground…

Maybe I will.

When I went back inside the house, he was still on the couch, but not Marron. I heard her crying in the next room, so I assumed had given her back to her mother or father. That didn't matter though. Before he knew I was there, I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. The surprised look on his face was priceless, but I didn't even smirk.

"Outside. Now."

He watched me cautiously, but obeyed; getting up to put on his shoes and jacket. The minute we were outside, I swung my fist at his cheek. He fell to the ground, then glared at me. I slowly walked toward him, kneeling so I was staring him straight in the eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the trickle disappearing from his mouth. I narrowed my eyes. His glare deepened as well, almost the same way they had the first day he arrived at my apartment.

"You…evil…brat." I barely whispered.

"What did I do?" he hissed in response.

I gave him a rough shove so his elbows were now back in the cold grey sand. I noticed he was shivering a little, his breath visible in the air.

"You mad me feel, that's what."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He began to get up, but I didn't want him to; I wanted him to feel pain. I kicked him in the side, making sure he landed on his stomach.

"Don't play dumb," I growled, "you were going to ask about it, weren't you?"

He didn't respond but just looked at me with hate and confusion. I rolled my eyes, bent down, and lifted trunks by his collar.

"Here, let me spell it out for you—"

I kissed him harshly, but quickly, then finished

"You made me love you."

He stared at me, wide eyed. I threw him back to the ground and flew off. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I couldn't stay on that island. I couldn't talk to that pathetic brat anymore. I couldn't face that sort of—that _much_—emotion." I hated it all over again. How dare he have more control? How dare he become stronger in the one area I couldn't touch? The one strength that I was afraid to touch. Emotion is weakness; that what my programming tells me—has told me since I woke up after that awful operation. And now he, just by existing, is forcing me to see otherwise?

No. I won't put up with it.

He found me sitting on a rock a mile or two from that stupid house a few hours later. Had I given him that hard of a time finding me, or was he giving me space? It didn't matter.

He sat next to me, cautiously so, and let out a long, deep sigh. I waited. The words never came from him, so I spoke instead,

"Why did you follow me?"

"I don't know," he replied after a thoughtful pause, almost cheerily, "I guess my KISA complex got the better of me."

I snorted, "I knew you were gay, but honestly; you read Fruits Basket? What does that have to do with anything any way?"

He blushed furiously and half shouted, "That's not what I meant!"

I looked at him curiously, a smirk on my face, and mentally just egging him on.

"You've lived in the US for a while now, right? My mother knew an English colloquial phrase and stuck it to me; KISA stands for 'Knight in Shining Armor'."

"Aha. I see."

There was the ever present awkward silence again. I began to think about how rich I would be if I got a quarter for every time we had one. That made me laugh. Trunks looked at me oddly.

"What?"

"I hate having loose change," I grinned, loving that he didn't understand. He smiled feebly, then asked,

"Um…did you…mean what you said back there?"

I lost my smile almost instantly. Why did he persist? I admitted it once; I'm not doing it and hurting my pride again. He stared expectantly, awaiting my answer. I sighed angrily and pulled my knees to my chest before barely nodding. He didn't do anything for a moment, then, because there's no other way to put it—

Glomped me.


	10. almost halfway middle Tpov

Wowwie…chapter 10 already! I can't believe this, but, I'm actually sad to be writing! Just seven more chapters after this…sniff, sniff.

But let's not be sad! We now have a (solid?) relationship between our boys. Kudos to the both of them; Trunks for not being blush-y or held back by his past (future? Ack….I hate time travel…), and Sev for not being a stubborn ass hole ;).

Again with the question of 'how-hard-can-it-be-for-me-to-write-Trunks?'…apparently very hard. it's weird because I know his quirks, I know his moves, I know what he likes to eat when he's bored at home (well, I can make a good guess anyway) but for the life of me, I can't seem to put it down on paper as easily as when I write from Sev's point of view! I think it might be because I like to write inside people's heads. This is easy with Sev because he's calculating and doesn't say much; but Trunks is more action than thought. I mean, sure he thinks about things, but he tends to be very rash. Anyways, my point is that if he seems a bit off in this chapter, you will know why.

Thank you to all of those who have stuck with the story all the way through so far! It makes me feel special…

**Chapter 10: Tpov**

I'm glad I found him that day. It was hard, since he doesn't have any ki to sense, but I did it. We went back to the apartment afterwards, and everything has been going well enough; although, he's been writing in that school journal a lot lately. I'm curious, to be sure, but know all too well that those who don't regard others' privacy only end of in a huge bout of trouble. I've seen it happen too many times not to.

Speaking of which…

I walked into the living room to find him in his usual spot, leaning against the couch on the floor, and sure enough, he had book and pen in hand.

"What are you writing about this time?"

He glanced up a second, then answered,

"Stuff."

I sighed, and flopped on the couch, absently beginning to play with his hair.

"Have you ever thought about cutting it?" I asked.

"Never."

"Not that you should…"

"Good, because I won't."

"OK."

"OK."

It was quiet; very quiet. Except for the pen. It seemed to speed across the paper with a life of its own, and I smiled. I'm not sure why, but I did. 17 huffed and switched the pen to his left hand. I was surprised.

"You're ambidextrous?"

"Sure am."

"Why are you answering so shortly?"

"Cause I can."

"Oy."

He paused our banter for a minute, thinking.

"Angry?" he asked

"Annoyed."

I saw him stumble with the pen just then (it wrote 'taknnoyed'), and growled as he scribbled it out furiously. I thought about it, then asked coyly

"You can't talk and write at the same time very well, can you?"

"Do you have to point out everything I can't do?" he returned bitterly.

I laughed and answered, "If it'll shrink that ego of yours, it's quite possible."

He let out a quiet "hmph" before continuing whatever he was writing. I glanced down and saw the word 'time' by accident. My blood froze; time. I was spending too much of it here, I needed to get back to my own, and I was most certainly running out of it to do something. I had to get working…

And leave him behind. Why? Why does life always turn out this way?

"Can I have a piece of paper and a pen?" I asked. Without stopping the pen, he turned the page, tore out the next blank sheet, and handed it to me, pointing to a cup full of pens and pencils on the coffee table. I got up, took a pencil, and sat writing

"List of bad/weird/cliché things that have happened to me while here:

-crashed

-found by enemy

-fell in love with enemy

-enemy/lover's sister had baby with friend of family

-now that there is significant other, must leave

-life has become a soap opera

"done." I heard him murmur. He capped the pen and shut the notebook.

"Do you mind if I ask what it was about?" I questioned. He looked thoughtfully at me, then my paper.

"Only if you tell me what you wrote."

I hesitated,

"A list."

He shrugged and said, "Poem."

I already knew where this was going. He wasn't going to budge. The less I gave, the less he'd give. I wouldn't mind this childish game if it weren't for two things; one, I was oddly curious that day, and two, I didn't want to risk the chance of hurting his feelings. So I was stuck somewhere in between. Taking a deep breath, I decided to take the plunge.

"Ok…it's a list of clichés I found in this trip."

He snorted and replied, "Life in general is a cliché. I've gotten used to the fact that it will always play out like some child's bedtime story."

He picked up the notebook and casually flipped through the paged. I noticed an odd look somewhere between nostalgia and nausea come across his face and began to worry.

"It's…about you," he started then frowned.

"You'll…leave eventually, right?"

I frowned sadly as well.

"I guess at some point I'll be going home and—"

"NO!" he threw the book to the floor with a loud, echoing smack. "That's not what I meant! I meant…you'll leave. All humans do. All living things do. They'll die."

I could do nothing but stand there, watching this poor confused thing click the pieces together. The look on his face said all too clearly that his mental puzzle was nearly complete, and he didn't like the picture it was about to become. I felt my heart and stomach sink when he spoke again, tears forming in his piercing gaze

"You started this, Trunks! Don't think you can just drop it when you don't want it anymore. What's wrong? You were nothing but smiles when I told you I loved you on that rock and now you don't want to stick around? It won't work that way, EVER. I died the day Gero strapped me to that table. Then you came along and I felt like maybe you could breathe life back into me. You did. But now, after that, after so long of struggling to claw that deeply into me and reach my black heart to turn it whole, you squeeze out the blood and tear it out?!"

His sad expression turned dark, and I felt a stab in my own heart when he finished,

"You can't do this to me. Even I don't deserve that."


	11. closer to halfwaymiddle 17pov

Wow…even for an angst story, this one's getting pretty angsty, huh? Ah, the joys of being confused in matters of love and hate. I won't go on a tirade about my Christmas things, but I would like to proudly jump out of my chair, dancing and singing "I've got a jar of di-irt! I've got a jar of di-irt!" (Special edition 3-D box even! Yayness.)

Also, this chapter was especially painful to write. Literally. See, I had Bagel Bites this morning for breakfast, and, being the clever person I am when having just woken up, I rested my fore- and middle finger on the tinfoil for a bit too long while trying to peel one off. Needless to say, I will be in pain typing on the keyboard, particularly because I finger find. (Don't let that confuse you; I'm not slow at all (42 words per minute average baby!!!!) .)

So enjoy, and again, I hope I've been keeping these two relatively in character.

**Chapter 11: 17pov**

Is possible to absolutely loathe the very existence of air? I'm not sure which I was angrier at: the fact that he was going to leave and, even though I owned him, I couldn't do anything about it; or that because I was such a prick, he ran off and hasn't come back for ten days.

Every day I've waited. I waited by the door, the window, even put up with the idiots in the lobby. He never came.

On the eleventh day, I was as close to an emotional breakdown as I could get. I couldn't make heads or tails of anything except for two thoughts: he was gone, and he had become the life that I had lost almost six years ago.

Not being able to take my head going into overtime, I decided to go out for some caffeine—wake myself up a little with a good cup of coffee.

On the way, I noticed more of the city than I ever did before. Was it because I was still subconsciously looking for him? There was a child crying on the corner, his mother fervently trying to quiet him down. A fire engine rushed by, leaving behind only a gust of wind and the faint sound of a disappearing siren. There were still buildings covered in Christmas lights and wreathes, though it was far past Christmas. Even my destination was still decked out with a few strings of tinsel; the little coffee shop on the corner.

I liked this place. Everything around it for twenty feet smelled like cookies and coffee. They also have exactly what the name promises: 'Honest to God Coffee'. I suppose they meant that they don't add all this cream and sugar crap to it (cough. Starbucks, cough). Unless you ask for it, they will hand you a mug and tell you to say when. They also give hot apple cider and gingerbread biscuits if it's really cold out.

So I went ahead and ordered my cup; black as night and perfectly hot. The family that owns the shop is very sweet, and going into their little corner of the world is like visiting old friends. The daughter (whose name was Sally) looked up from her book behind the counter,

"You look troubled today."

"I've just got a lot on my mind," I replied numbly, taking a sip, "it's got my all riled up."

She hummed thoughtfully and placed her bookmark before leaning over the counter.

"You look like the aftermath of a lover's spat. Girl troubles?"

I took another long sip before answering shortly, "guy troubles."

She seemed only momentarily shocked, but recovered gracefully, giving a sympathetic smile.

"In a weird sort of way…I can relate." She sighed sadly. "My boyfriend might be moving, and he wants me to go with him and get married—but I just can't leave the shop."

I stared blankly at the half empty mug, swirling the content slowly.

"I only wish it were that simple for me."

"Oh…don't worry," she comforted, getting up to go to the register, "things'll get better."

I watched her pull out a roll of quarters and crack it on the counter.

"Relationships," she started, "are kind of like…a roll of quarters. They crack and fall apart," she spilled them into their slot in the register as I watched her curiously, "but you still have five dollars, right? And who knows when one of those quarters will be in someone else's pocket later? You just have to be willing to get a lot of change."

I thought about the double meaning of the word 'change', and then to his and my conversation on the rock. I took another sip of coffee after repeating my line,

"I hate having loose change."

She was right about one thing at least. There was going to be change. Too much change. At that moment, there was a loud crash, not much more than a block away. People up and down the street began poking their heads out of windows and doors, some running to see what had happened. Then, I felt an odd chill. There was a familiar ki; very weak now, however. The pieces began to fit together, and standing quickly I said,

"Sally, can you put this one on my tab?"

I didn't have time to hear her response, because the next minute, I was half running down the walk. The sinking feeling in my stomach grew worse with each step. I saw a huge crowd already forming, and in the center were a few crunched up cars. The drivers all seemed more or less in one piece, maybe a broken arm or two, but I couldn't care; it was the body half under the nose of the blue Honda that left me cold,

"Trunks?"


	12. next to halfway middle Tpov

Oooh…… the plot thickens, my friends! Bet you never saw that one coming did ya? In this chapter, it will be the same story as the last chapter, but from, as I'm sure you figured out, Trunks' point of view.

We are nearing the end of this lovely little slice of angst. There are only (by a total stroke of coincidence and irony) 17 chapters. I must say, it's been a long, fun, and at times, tedious road. To those of you who have dealt with my incessant whoring of reviews and feedback; thank you. I will try not to breathe down your necks about it if I ever make a story this long or (if I do say so myself) this good again.

As for the flames I have received, I thank you greatly! I haven't laughed that hard since the time my sister scared herself so badly, a noodle from the ramen she was eating came out her nose. Not to mention, there was some, but only a little, bit of good criticism in them.

Now, for chapter 12—

**Chapter 12: Tpov**

It's been eleven days since our fight. I just didn't know what to do with him or myself. He was right, but at the same time I couldn't help but be mad. It seemed nothing I did made him happy, so I left. Maybe it would help, maybe not. I wasn't sure when I'd go back either, if I ever did. I remember that night; I waited till he was fast asleep before I put away the half finished time machine, packed one outfit (the extra I started with when I first got here), and just left. It was hard being so quiet, as it reminded me too much of sneaking around back home. I was scared my pounding heart would be enough to wake the dead; but I made it.

I've been wandering these past days around the city. I started out close to the apartment, snaking through every alley and shop. I never actually bought anything except enough food to keep a normal person set for four days (I rationed). After the third day, I was "lucky" enough to fall in a pile of ash. So now I was tired, hungry, and covered in soot. Just like home. It felt so natural in fact, that seeing all the buildings whole was strange. I got lost at times, not that I was going anywhere in particular, and I had to hide a lot to avoid questioning. Then again, with all the other people moving about their own business (and some other people that looked about as ratty as I did or worse), I began to doubt anyone cared in the first place.

Today, I walked past a shop that smelled like hot chocolate and coffee. I chuckled inwardly at its name: "honest to God coffee". The windows were foggy and frosted so I couldn't see inside very well. What I could see were silhouettes of two people, a few blocks that looked like shelves, and other shapes that weren't so clear. I stayed staring at the worn, snow capped sign for a moment and inhaled deeply. A small shiver escaped my body at the idea of something warm to drink. My mouth began to water, and I had to swallow. In an attempt to get my mind off the want for warmth, I kept walking. Cars went by and I found myself wondering where they could all be going. I imagined all sorts of scenarios, some strange, some ordinary. I looked across the street and saw a few children, the oldest probably twelve or so, walking together and laughing. The youngest looking had a leash in his tiny hands, and I was surprised to see the dog attached to it was at least three times as large as he was. It mad e me smile nervously. I guess the other kids were staying close, and the dog seemed well behaved. Shrugging it off, I swiped away some snow on a bench at the corner and sat.

The light turned red, and the cars all slowed to a stop. The children began to run across, laughing even more and shoving each other playfully. I closed my eyes and smiled for only a few seconds before I heard the screeching of tires. I looked in the direction of the noise, and my stomach twisted when I saw the car speeding in the direction of the kids. Everything seemed to slow, though I know it was happening too quickly. The youngest had let go of the leash in surprise; the dog ran across to the other children; they were yelling for the boy to cross; cars were moving in the other lane. I didn't think, just ran and threw myself in front of the kid, shoving him the rest of the way across. I looked up and saw headlights, then…

Black.


	13. halfway middle 17pov

OMFG…chapter thirteen already! Can you believe how far we've all come in the story? No, neither can I. I'm sorry if the chapter came a bit slowly, and if they come slowly in the future. The fact of the matter is, even text can get sick. Rather the person creating the text can  yes, ladies, gentlemen, and fans of all kinds, I have come down with a cold. Gasp, horrors, and shock, right? Well, at least (I hope) you will all be understanding of the situation and forgive delayed updates until I am better. But why am I telling you? I probably shouldn't, lest my theory on Technological Germ Transport come to be true. (If I type that I am sick, it's like being in the same room….thus, you may get sick. That's my TGT theory.)

But you didn't come to hear that, did you? No, you came to find out what happens to Trunks and Sev now that such a heroic tragedy has occurred. I hope the answer will satisfy and that you won't cry when this comes to an end (I know I did…and I'm the one who wrote it!). So thanks for reading (for the umpteen-billionth time) and enjoy.

**Chapter 13: 17pov**

I numbly looked around, taking everything in; obviously the blue car had smashed into the other two cars, probably from trying to swerve. I was in such a state of shock; I barely heard the sirens coming closer. A group of children stood hugging each other and sobbing softly as a huge dog sat next to them whining, tail tucked between his legs. The noise of the crowd melted into nothing not knowing what I was doing, my legs moved me to his body. I just stood for what felt like ages by the horribly crunched nose of the Honda. Then, I fell to my knees, not caring that the slush on the road immediately began soaking through to my shins. I heard the sirens stop and footsteps running to where I sat stupidly in the snow. I was watching it happen, but nothing seemed to register. The paramedics gently but quickly pulled him from under the car. Blood was smeared over his beautiful face and in his hair. His arm lay funny over his torso, and I suspected it was broken. I found myself thinking that this might just be a horrible dream. A car crash couldn't possibly hurt him this badly, could it? After all, he was a half Saiyan. But he had also, from the looks of things, been caught off guard. Maybe it could hurt him.

I couldn't even stand as they put him in the ambulance. I couldn't move. I couldn't even place what I felt at that moment; sadness? Fear? Anger? Emptiness? I heard one other person being loaded into the back of the truck, but I didn't care. I couldn't think. The cold of the ground and the slush finally began numbing my feet and legs. Then, I felt something warm and soft moving down my cheeks. I glanced up to see a little boy staring sadly at me, mittened hands caressing my face.

"He saved me." the boy said with the simplicity and innocence only a toddler can have. Then, I felt his tiny arms wrap around my neck, and his warm cheek on my face. Not knowing what else to do, I placed my arms around the tiny body in return. I blinked, feeling my brow furrow. Then, something wet fell from my chin. I began to shake, letting out a shuddered sigh. It was then I realized; this wasn't like my fits of anger before. This wasn't like my tantrums over petty things.

I was truly crying because I was sad. No more sobs for no real reason, no more stupid fits that went away as soon as they came. I was actually, really crying. I felt the child's arms tighten, an effort to comfort me. But the tears couldn't stop. I couldn't stop. My heart felt ready to burst, and my stomach seemed to be trying to twist so it was upside down. My head didn't feel much better. Soon, the child's friends came over. They just stood with their dog and watched us numbly, solemn faced and feeling small. One of the older girls came and put her hand on my shoulder, her own eyes welling with tears. The dog whined and licked her other hand that hung loosely at her side. She patted his nose briefly before kneeling beside me and hugging me as well. I heard her sigh, sniff once, and then whisper one heart-wrenchingly somber word in my ear,

"Sorry."


	14. past halfway middle Tpov

Hello again. Today was my Dad's b-day. Today was also, due to spirit week, Twin Day. Guess who I went as. (My 'twin' happened to be a good friend of mine dressed as Juuhachi-san, but it counted dammit! They're twins!!!)

Anyways, if the last chapter left you feeling depressed, fear not! The next chapter has some humor. It also has a cutesy-sweet ending. Can you believe there are only three chapters left after this? It saddens me but excites me at the same time. I mean, I barely finish my sentences without getting distracted, much less write a whole story. 0.o

Have fun and remember; I love hearing from you, so write to me!!! (Please?)

Review.

**Chapter 14: Tpov**

It's not that I woke up in a hospital that bothered me. I've done that before, mother sitting worriedly by my side. It was the fact that it was a whole room that irked me. No cracks in the walls or ceiling, no old equipment, and no dirty atmosphere; just a bed, an IV, and a curtain half way enveloping it all. The silhouette of someone moving behind said curtain caught my attention. I moved my head in hopes of seeing who it was.

I couldn't, so I settled with lying relaxed and quiet instead. Isn't that just like me? I thought. I could have been killed, and here I am thinking as rationally and calmly as though nothing had ever happened. Classic.

I was still sore, and my right arm was heavily bandaged. My whole mouth had the faint tang of blood, and my chest felt ready to explode. So what was I doing? Planning where to go once I was out. I guess I should consider myself lucky; if I hadn't been born with Father's blood, I'd probably be dead. That point was made more profound when I heard a surprised "you're awake?!"

Looking over, I saw a man wearing blue scrubs peeking behind the curtain at me. He appeared to be in his mid to late twenties, and had short brown hair that didn't want to lay flat. Not knowing what else to do, I nodded. He let out a short 'huh' of a chuckle and smiled.

"Well I'll be. Everyone was worried you'd be a goner for sure!"

I liked the friendly tone and look in his eyes. It made me feel less awkward about the situation. He pulled up a wooden chair form the desk he'd previously been at, and sat in it backwards, arms resting under his chin.

"Now I do believe in miracles. You've only been out for about five hours," he glanced at the clock.

After a few minutes, I guessed he was an intern, or a brand new nurse. He was very cautious and awkward, but made a point to "keep me comfortable". A half hour or so went by, and he finally stopped talking long enough to turn and see a round, black woman standing at the door

"Henry, you talkin' to yourself again?"

She gave him a funny look. I think he blushed before apologizing, but she shook her head exasperatedly. Then she saw me, and her eyes widened,

"Boy, why didn't you tell me he was awake?!"

She walked across the room, looking at me as if she couldn't believe what she saw. I felt odd as she started asking the other nurse questions (while punctuating their answers with numbers I didn't understand), as she gently pressed and tested me.

"Mm-hm. Well now I've seen everything!" she said, looking back at the door.

"You feelin' up to havin' visitors, hon?"

I tried to shrug, and finding that it was painful to do so, gave up and reluctantly nodded. The only person that I could think of who was around to visit was _him_, and he was the last person I wanted to see. But she had said "visitors", so I wasn't sure whether to be worried or just pretend to be asleep. Just the same, she turned and walked toward the door, muttering something about God having a strange sense of humor. I heard voices outside, then—

In came the children from before. They all looked solemn, and stood as though it had been rehearsed; the three taller ones in the back, two younger ones in the front, and the smallest on the front left side.

I couldn't help but smile. They all looked so earnest. The youngest walked up to my bed, and had to stand on tiptoe to place something on my stomach before saying "thank you for saving my life, mister."

I picked up the folded piece of paper with my left hand and opened it with my thumb. Inside was a drawing of them all (including the dog) that only a toddler could do. On the other side were the words "get well soon" (the 'n' was backwards) and my smile widened. I looked at the child whose sad expression slowly gave way to a smile all its own.

"My sister helped me spell the words, but I drew the pictures!"

They all laughed, and so did I, despite the twinge in my stomach from doing so. They started telling me how it was the little one's idea to make it when they got home, and in all the years I've been alive, I can honestly say I've never gotten a better gift.


	15. almost to the end 17pov

Erm…where to begin…first of all, thank you to the people who have actually reviewed! Yayness…as for the story, well…just read.

Actually, stay put for a sec. This will be kind of random, but I need to tell people about my Tri-Trunks Theory. This theory states my reasoning for loving this couple, because as far as I'm concerned, you can ship whomever you damn well please, so long as you have a logical point to speak from.

The Tri-Trunks Theory goes a little something like this:

We all know that in the DB universe, there are three Trunkses; two from DBZ (present and future) and one in DBGT. The one in DBGT is, I'm sorry, SOOOOOO fucking straight you could use him to level a table. In this case, though I don't particularly like the pairing, I'd say him and Pan are good to go, as far as cannon characters go. The present time Trunks in DBZ is, as far as I can tell, Bisexual. This would be because, like most normal teenaged boys, he likes to experiment. Let's face it, no matter how much boys deny it, their hormones simply don't allow them to go through life without even contemplating what it MIGHT be like to get it on with another person of their gender. (Actually, I think it's safe to assume ALL teens do that). And finally, there's Mirai Trunks. His case is one I have affectionately named "antisexual", meaning that because of 17 and 18 messing up his life and mind since day one, he is afraid of both sexes and too wrapped up in fighting to care anyways; hence, he wouldn't really have a sexual preference. The fact that his head has been screwed with leaves him open for all _manner_ of emotional confusion as well, so anyone who showed him sexual affection could easily manipulate him into thinking he's in love. After an extended period of this, that thought may come to be truth.

And that's the Tri-Trunks Theory.

Sorry for my spazziness, and thanks for reading.

**Chapter 15: 17pov**

I listened outside the door. The laughter of the kids brought a sad smile to my face. They made him so happy, and it was such that I just couldn't be jealous. It was their idea to visit him that brought me out of my daze, actually. The youngest looked into my eyes, and something in his gave me hope that trunks might still be alive.

After everything on that street began to clear up, the children took me home rather; the little one grabbed my hand and insisted to his friends that I go home with them. Still in shock, I absently agreed and walked for about two blocks with them to a row of town houses. We walked up the steps to one of them and I was hit by the smell of cinnamon and chocolate and peanut butter all at once.

"Mommy!"

The toddler kicked off his boots and ran into the kitchen.

"Today, on our walk, this man saved me and I brought his friend home!"

I couldn't help but smile. The others just shook their heads and removed their own soaking shoes and socks.

"Bryan, what _are _you talking abou—oh."

She stood at the door way and apologized,

"I'm so sorry, he's very excitable…Bryan, kids, go upstairs."

They all trudged up, looking behind them on occasion, expressions blank. I noted, with some difficulty holding back a laugh, that they all sat at the corner of the wall once they reached the top, listening.

"I really am sorry about them. When their father—left—well; they just haven't been the same."

I don't think she recognized me, which was a relief. She seemed tired, and although was probably only in her late thirties, she looked much older. As she led me into the kitchen, I stole a glance over my shoulder and found them quietly hiding next to the door frame. I winked at them in my own childish need to play along. Besides, it was better than being upset.

A small TV on the counter caught my attention. It must have intrigued her as well, for she turned up the volume a notch, handing me a mug of hot chocolate and sipping at her own.

"_today, a strange but noble act of courage was displayed near this small, quiet corner of New York City; a young man, estimated to be about twenty, was hit by a car saving a little boy's life."_

I noticed a look of cold realization come over my hostess, but she said nothing. Looking back to the counter, the shot had moved to a group of teens who I assumed were being interviewed.

"_We were doing some shopping, and, like, this car went right past us. We got kinda nervous, 'cause there was this little kid crossing the street, and he just, like, froze or something; but this other guy, like, jumped out and pushed the kid across, and we're just hoping he'll be OK, 'cause, like, that was a three car crash."_

My hands were trembling. The image of his messed up form beneath the Honda entered my head with disturbing clarity. The reporter continued,

"_Miraculously, only one other driver was hurt; the one who had been speeding in the first place. Upon getting his broken arm fixed, the only major injury on him, he admitted to the paramedics and police that he was high on crack cocaine while he had been speeding. Further Police investigation found three pounds more of it in the trunk of the car. I suppose this is just one more—"_

"That's enough of that." She turned off the TV. Sighing, she flopped into the chair across from me.

"Mom?"

She looked up, as did I, and the kids stood at the doorway, the youngest in front and holding a folded piece of construction paper.

"Bryan made a card. He says he wants to take it to the guy in the hospital."

She looked at them, near tears, and nodded.

"Can we take him?" Bryan pointed at me. I was surprised, but not seeing a reason not to go, agreed.

So I took them here. Emily (the mother of the six) stayed in the lobby, saying any friend of someone who saved her child was trusted with her. I chose to ignore how woefully wrong she might have been. But, for the moment, I saw no need to go back to the way I was. I listened and heard a piece of the conversation that made my blood run cold—

"This other man cried for you." It was Bryan's voice.

"He came with us so we could all give you the card."

There was Trunks' voice but it was too quiet to make out words. Then, the next thing I knew, Bryan had come to grab my hand and drag me into the room.

There trunks was, and for the first time in eleven days, I saw him smiling.

Smiling at me.


	16. second to last Tpov

Ugh…the only reason I can write this chapter at the time I am is because I'm staying home sick it's a little after nine and I just feel awful. But this must be done—I'm sure you've all been waiting patiently for what might happen next. As a warning, this chapter jumps forward quite a bit. It's also a bit melancholy, but needs to be given. After all, we all know how 17 has been feeling this whole time because he is mostly thought (despite his self rule of not thinking too much ). But what about Trunks? (This chapter also proves how much of a pain in the ass and mind-fucky time travel can be). It's almost heartbreaking, and I started sniffing a bit when I wrote this. And you know, I always saw Trunks as the type who when he actually speaks his mind, is unwittingly poetic about it. I don't know, take it as you will.

So, if there are any mistakes or blah or shpleh that you wish to tell me about (aren't I articulate?) you know what to do. If there is any good or yay or woot, do the same thing. I NEED REVIEWS!!!! (Falls into coughing fit from yelling) ((Realizes how silly that was because text can't fall into coughing fits)). I'm ok. Just hyper. I don't do well with sick and hyper. It's bad for my brain.

On with the show, and have fun marveling at my clever math in the beginning (which will also help you if you had no idea what month it was for the past few chapterssweat drop)

**Chapter 16: Tpov**

It's April now. Three more days and it will be May. If I'm right, that means I've been out of the hospital for two and a half months. If I'm right, I've been in this time period for seven and a half months.

And in two months, the time machine should be finished.

I haven't told him yet. The last thing I want is another fight. I really hope I haven't screwed anything up, especially with the kid. I'm messing with the time stream too much. What if he was supposed to die? What if he wasn't, but the crash was going to do something to someone else? The warning I gave the first time I came here was enough tampering on my part. That warning should have been it. I shouldn't even have come to this period to check on things.

Then again…

Maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe I haven't changed anything at all. Maybe every effort I have made, every cautious step, all the planning…could it all have been a given? If that's so, I shouldn't care because each step I take is already written in stone; written in fate. It's a frightening thought, really. Stepping into this grey space, I realize that it all just may not matter. They grey is a terrible place, where the black and white you thought you had no longer exists; a haze in which you feel smothered because all you thought you knew had been distorted into a sickening pit called Nothing. Out of Nothing is born Something. That is the only law of the grey named Fate.

I fear Fate. Fate, if such a horrible thing exists, is what brought His and Her hell upon my world. That warped, twisted mind that created them—altered them—is why I fight. Why I need to get home. And maybe it is Fate that I go back for. My world has become Fate, and so the grey has already swallowed me whole. What horrors have entered my head have always been there; it is just now, however, I am able to see them. See the grey that has surrounded life for so long.

Fate is cruel and unmoving. Maybe that is why others who believe in it are so loose. They have given up in trying because they know their history is already written. They are free because they let things happen as they come. That concept can make or break a psyche.

It broke mine.

In this grey, I have found many things I knew before, but was terrified to admit to. Feelings locked away so deep inside, I never wanted to find the keys. He had those keys all along and has been picking me open—so slowly, I realize, it hurts to know how skillfully he did it. But I can't let myself be completely opened. That's why I have to leave. Home may have been Hell, but it was _my_ Hell. And now that his other self and sister are gone, I have a chance to watch that world grow the way it should have.

Yes, in a couple months I will be ready to leave. Leave this new grey behind, and return to the old.

For what is grey but a shade? This shade is just too light for me. I'm used to my almost black.


	17. the last chapter 17pov

Hello all, and welcome to: the last chapter (twilight zone music plays in background). Just kidding!

But all joking aside, this is indeed the last chapter of the NYC, Coffee, and Me. I have received many questions from you readers about what was going to happen to our dear boys. Well, the results are in, and the answer is…

READ AND FIND OUT!!!! smiles

Yet again, we jump forward quite a bit from last chapter as far as time goes. I don't know if this will be a problem, but it shouldn't if you pay attention. (It actually says when it is, so yeah.)

I would also like to announce that the Anonymous Review Block is off; I repeat: OFF. So please, make a strange child happy and post your thoughts. I mean, if you bothered to read all the way through, you MUST have some sort of opinion on how well or poorly I did. I would like to hear said thoughts, as it will help me to write better stories in future.

A small shout out to a few people:

Cassandre, Bold and Delicious, Corvin, Kinatsurune, and whoever else actually posted. If your name isn't up here, it's not because I don't love you. It's because either a.) I don't know you because you haven't posted a review, b.) You only posted a review once and I never heard from you again, or c.) I don't have a reason for c.

Anyways, I hope you like it and realize you've made a silly fan child very happy. Until the next I write,

The Kitten

**Chapter 17: 17pov**

There's too much about him I've grown to know, I never expected this of him. We were never officially a couple, I guess. Just awkward lovers, trying to find out why the other changed so much. It was too brief, too short a time to actually let things settle. At least, I suppose, the fact that they didn't settle means I won't have to deal with a huge change. I hate change. Small things are okay, maybe, but things that are important that change; that annoys me. Like the fire alarm. His constant hum, the fact that he could just be, was now shifting into that same disruptive honking that I loathed so much. And I was too late to stop it. If I tried to do something, he'd leave. If I just stood by, he'd leave. If I made it so he couldn't leaver, he'd hate me. If I allowed him to hate me, I'd hate myself. It's a deep, complex fire burning my insides out, and I'm choking on the smoke.

Tomorrow is the last day of school and yet again, I won't be showing up for graduation. The ceremony is overcrowded, over emotional, and symbolizes something I can never do: move on. It took his stay here for me to realize, that no matter how much I say I've changed, I'm still the clingy, scared teenager I was the moment I was released from the operating table. Because if I wasn't, would I be so upset that he was leaving? Would my subconscious be telling me "No! He's mine!"? Would my heart, if I still have one, feel like it's exploding into a thousand pieces?

I don't see why they bother putting Monday as the second to last day. As a matter of fact, I don't see why they don't just make Friday the last day. Because no one actually does anything on the last few days of school. They just sit around, inattentive and talking over each other. I hate being in the midst of this. Paper balls and airplanes are flying around, the teacher is at his desk, ignoring us all, and the fear that you'll leave is louder then all the buzz of the classroom at it's noisiest. God I wish you'd stay. I hate to admit it, but you've filled the gap that has been part of my semi-life for years. And you don't have a clue, do you?

As I rode the bus home, that thought played like a broken record; you were my drug, my salvation, my everything, and you probably didn't even grasp that. I choked on the lump in my throat as I opened the door to the lobby, noticing how empty it was. Every step up the stairs weighed my feet down a little more. Half way, I went faster. Then faster. Something didn't feel right. Something was wrong. I was sprinting now. I ran down the hall to my door, fumbled the key before turning it in the lock and—

I rushed inside the room. Trunks wasn't there on the couch. I ran into my room, the kitchen, the whole apartment.

Nothing.

Nothing but a note on the couch, neatly folded and written in Japanese. Some of the pen was smeared. I don't remember if it was my tears that did it, or if they were there before. All I remember was the feeling when I read the last few lines in the letter:

"…_I know that I'm a coward for not saying goodbye in person. But the truth of the matter is, I love you too much. I didn't want to see you sad, or I'd lose my resolve. Thank you for changing my point of view forever, and who knows; maybe I'll see you again someday._

_-Trunks"_

I guess, maybe, it was for the better. Just another life, where everything changes but nobody sees. A story titled

The NYC, Coffee, and Me.

**END**


End file.
